Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion, #3)(76)

Simon leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Not really. We’ve been scrimping and hoping for a long time. This is a good thing.”

Nick tapped the paper. “I know. I know.”

“Then don’t get all upset about it. This is cause for a celebration. And a car.”

Nick laughed. “Two cars.”

“A house.”

“Fuck. I don’t even know what to think about that. I don’t want to leave the Hills, man.”

“So, don’t.”

“What are you going to do with your money?”

Simon took off his hat and scrubbed at his hair. “I don’t even know what a financial advisor does besides gamble with your money.”

“We suck at gambling.”

Simon laughed. “No shit. But man, imagine going into some badass casino like Bond and putting down one of those million dollar chips?”

“Fuck yeah,” Nick said on a laugh.

Simon slapped him on the back of his neck and steered him down the hall. “This requires day drinking.”

“So much day drinking.”





* * *



Margo dragged her shredded bow over the strings of her Starfish. She had so much fiber blowing around her wrists, she was probably going to have to get it restrung.

But she didn’t let up. Her arm screamed and her fingers were numb from trying to keep up with Nick’s guitar. Bent at the waist and as tense as her strings, she spit out heat and passion from every note.

She stared him down as he lowered to meet her gaze. The crowd was screaming and the sweat coated her from neck to ankle in the Georgia heat.

Simon skidded onto his knees between them and bowed back, his chest slick with sweat. His abs quivered with each bounce.

Jesus.

He held the note. The long cry of “Torn to Pieces” last verse emptied her out and his vibrato was flawless. Her eyes widened and then he popped up, his chest heaving.

She blinked out of the surprise and shredded another length of her bow as Nick waggled his eyebrows and stood tall.

Out of breath and so turned on she couldn’t even stand herself, she staggered back and caught her heel on the cord behind her.

Simon rose off his knees and scooped her up. He dropped the mic into her lap and she juggled it with her violin and bow as he brought her to the front of the stage. He lowered his mouth to her chest. “And I rescue damsels, too.”

“You wish.”

Delighted, she clapped as the deafening roar of the crowd surged and the people on the lawn stood. Okay, so it was cute, but not that funny. She looked over her shoulder and Deacon stood behind her.

“Is this man bothering you?”

She laughed and wrapped her arm around Simon’s neck in a mock clingy damsel reaction. “He’s my hero,” she said in her best Marilyn voice.

Jazz beat the shit out of her skins and Nick picked out the first notes of “Holding Out For a Hero.”

Gray leaned into the mic and sang the opening verse in a surprisingly husky, deep voice.

Simon put her down and turned around with his hands on his hips. “Hold up, hold up.” He waved. “Excuse me, sir.” The crowd screamed from behind him.

Gray cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“I don’t believe we allowed such nonsense. I’m the singer, boyo.”

Gray peered around Simon. “Is it okay if I sing?” He looked back at Simon. “I think they like it.”

Suddenly the piano tones of the song started. Margo twisted around and Lindsey York from Brooklyn Dawn was on the keys.

Simon stalked around the stage in a fake temper and the crowd went insane. Margo fit her violin to chin and twisted her pins to loosen the strings slightly. She bounced her bow against the strings until it made a similar sound to an old eighties tone.

By the end of the song, they’d all dissolved into a fit of hysterics and Simon was hanging off the archway by the knees with his arms crossed, fake sleeping.

Lindsey waved as the song ended and she ran backstage. Simon snorted into the mic. “Oh, are you done now? Do I get to sing again?”

The crowd screamed back a resounding yes, and they finished the show with every single person in the pavilion on their feet and half the lawn crowding the railing.

The reaction was so strong that they actually ended up doing a second encore. By the third song in the encore, Simon was pulling away from the microphone and coughing into his elbow.

He covered it up as laughter at Nick climbing all over Jazz’s drum kit to get to the ramp behind her.

But she saw his eyes.

The flash of pain and the crack at the end of “Summer of ’69” made even her throat hurt. They finally took their bows and all hugged like drunk puppies.

Simon slid his forefinger through the frown of her brows and hung his arm around her neck as he dragged her off the stage with the rest of the band.

The backstage was in an uproar and Lila was fielding a phone call and shaking her head at them as they all filed into the after show room that Harper had set up.

She went right for the watermelon, completely a convert of Harper’s hydration system. She was dizzy from exhaustion and sweating out eighteen buckets of fluid.

The whole band fell on the melon and water like wolves, moving onto food as they excitedly recapped the show.

“Good thing the ticket sales were good enough to cover that fine I just had to pay,” Lila said loudly.